The Darkslayer: Series 2 Special Edition (Bish and Bone Bundle Books 1-5): Sword and Sorcery Adventures

by Craig Halloran

  “So I’m to believe the rogues are the only force left to defend this city?” Venir filled himself a tankard. “Ha! I’ve little faith in that.”

  “We’re all part of the guild. Everything we say is true.” He and Slom laughed and clanked tankards again. “Well, in this case it’s true.”

  “It’s true enough, lout,” a raspy voice said.

  Venir looked down at Melegal. Joline was helping him up into a sitting position while Jubilee wrapped up his leg. Melegal’s reddened eyes glanced through the people. The thief tried to hide his discomfort but could not.

  “It seems you’ve found some new company, Melegal.”

  “Anything’s better than my old ones,” he said, rising to his feet. “Ack, that hurts. Of course, a lack thereof would be more preferable.” He shoved Joline away and limped over to a chair, touched his neck, and grimaced. “Where’s my hat?”

  “On your head,” Venir said.

  “Ah,” Melegal said, smoothing it. He sat back into his chair, and his steel-grey eyes narrowed. “I’m not sure why everyone is still here. Any moment now, we’re going to be covered in underlings and arseholes, present company excluded.”

  Badoon Underling

  CHAPTER 35

  Melegal’s eyes lifted toward the door. He sat at a small table in a dim room of a dingy apartment far away from the Magi Roost. They’d departed more than a week ago, leaving only Joline, Jasper, Jubilee, and Erin behind.

  A figure cloaked in desert-colored wool entered the room from the pouring rain. The man stomped mud from his boots and dropped his hood. It was Venir.

  “It’s there, all right,” he said, tossing the cloak onto a rack nearby. “A hive in the ground. Catwalks. Railcars. Everything.”

  “How many?” Melegal said.

  Venir shrugged his big shoulders. “Thirty fiends, maybe fifty. I didn’t venture into the tunnel.”

  “What else did you see?” It was Fogle who spoke. He sat on the floor cross legged with his spellbook in his lap. A mintaur was there, and Slom was too. Slom rested on a cot. The mintaur’s back rested against the wall as he filed the tip of his pick axe.

  They’d all been cooped up in the dingy, candlelit apartment too long. Venir had been more than happy to get out and do some scouting on his own. The room was rank with sweat, and there was only one small window.

  He tore a cork off a bottle with his teeth and downed some grog. “Ah!” He put the cork in the bottle and set it back in the small cupboard.

  “Why didn’t you kill them all?” Melegal said.

  “Why didn’t you answer my question?” Fogle added.

  Venir took a chair and sat down by Melegal, squeezed his shoulder, and said, “How’s the neck?”

  “Better, oaf. Now out with it,” he said, cleaning his nails with a small knife. “However, I cannot seem to shake the pain in my behind.”

  Venir smiled. “Some things just don’t go away so easily.”

  “Indeed.”

  “Say, where’s Brak?”

  Melegal tilted his head toward a closed door.

  “Ah, good, but I don’t hear him snoring.”

  “I cured that,” Melegal said, waggling his dagger in his hand.

  Venir cocked his head and glowered.

  “He still breathes, just not so loudly. It’s a trick I learned.” Melegal rolled his shoulders. The tightness was back between the blades. Moments of relaxation were becoming hard to come by. The sweaty stuffiness of the room didn’t help much, either.

  Zurth and Slom had tried to convince them to head to The Nest, but he didn’t like the idea of living beneath the streets. And the guild had enough confusion now that Palzor was gone. Slom had anonymously delivered Palzor’s head to them.

  “A caravan of soldiers and men escort underlings to the depot. I saw that slime Royal, Cappy, among them. That explains much. I don’t think many are hunting underlings these days.” His face darkened. “So, boxes, sacks, tarps go in; men, women and children go out.”

  Slom sat up. “What?”

  “It took all I had to refrain.”

  “You’d be a fool to do otherwise.” Slom said. “What man can fight a score of underlings and survive?”

  Fogle, Venir, and Melegal looked at Slom.

  “What?”

  “Still,” Venir continued, “I think there is an opportunity here, me. It must have taken them months to carve out that depot. If—”

  “Do you think there are any more?” Fogle said, cutting Venir off.

  “Mind your business, mage.”

  Fogle closed his book, got up, and said, “This is my business.” He walked over to the table and looked down on Venir. “Do you think there are any more?”

  Melegal eased back. He could feel the heat between them. The pair made the air ripe with tension.

  Venir tilted his chair back on two legs. “Why don’t you go take a look for yourself?”

  “Venir, can’t we cast our differences aside?”

  “Differences?”

  Fogle found a chair, dragged it over to the table, and sat down. “Fine, you talk; I’ll just listen.” Fogle folded his arms inside his robes. “And hope you don’t try to pull my ears off for it.”

  Melegal eased back. Idiots. One too brawny, one too … not brawny.

  ***

  Venir let Melegal do the talking.

  Despite his aversion to Fogle, in truth he couldn’t blame the man for how he felt, but he didn’t have to accept it, either. At the moment, he was more intrigued by other things, Melegal in particular. He loathed underlings. He wanted to destroy them. It was one matter the three of them could agree on.

  “If we can disrupt the depot, we can create enmity between the underlings and the Royals. That might give the good citizens strong enough a foothold to turn this city back around.” Melegal eyed Venir. “Are you up for it?”

  “Of course.”

  “What about you, Slom? Can we scare us up some more bodies?”

  “Aye.”

  He glanced at Fogle.

  The mage patted his tome. “I know a few spells that can help guide us, but I need at least a day.”

  Venir shook his head and sighed. “Wizards.”

  CHAPTER 36

  “Mate,” a voice said. “Mate.”

  Creed couldn’t open his swollen eyes, but he heard the door to his cellar creak open. A rat squeaked and scurried. Rough hands shook him.

  “Mate,” the voice said again. “Eat. Drink.”

  The guard peeled him off the floor and propped him up against the bars.

  He coughed and sputtered. He forced his head up to look at the guard. They all looked the same. Ugly. Blurry.

  The guard left.

  Creed raised his arm and said, “Wait.”

  The guard came back inside and set down a wooden bucket. Fresh water sloshed over the sides.

  Creed lurched over, sank his head inside, and drank. It was fresh. Cool.

  “Don’t drown yerself. Save some to wash down your eats.”

  Creed gulped down a few more mouthfuls and gasped. Blinking his eyes, he got a better look at the guard. He wore a leather hauberk and had a little grey in his beard. His grey eyes were dark and saggy.

  “Wh—”

  “Don’t speak,” the guard said, waving him off. “Just eat.” He presented Creed with a plate of food. Cooked chicken and half a plate of rice. A large biscuit, too.

  He devoured it.

  The guard knelt, resting his elbow on his knee. “Enjoy it. Not sure when it might come again, but we’ll see.” He stretched up and made his way outside the cell. Keys rattled as he locked it back. “Hang in there, Creed. It’s better than hanging outside.”

  “Wait,” Creed said, sputtering food from his hairy mouth. “Please, wait,” he said, voice cracking.

  Not turning, the guard walked up the steps and disappeared. Creed looked down at his food, blinking.

  “Son of a Bish, it’s still here.”

  ***
<
br />   Corrin brushed one dog down and started on another. Five men had hung over the past month, and more were to come. Lord Grom had gone mad. Many dogs had lost their owners. Corrin now cared for them.

  “That’s a good fella. A very good fella,” he said, scratching one large shepherd’s ears.

  He’d gotten used to the dogs. Their company. Loyalty. The smell of the kennel didn’t even bother him anymore. All the barking, he blocked out. Sometimes, he could even get them all to stop. He shoveled and cleaned when he didn’t guard the towers. Some of the bloodhounds had warmed up to him. Even shared a drink from time to time.

  He stood up, stretched his back, and groaned, making his way over to a larger cage where Creed’s dog Manx lay. He crouched, drawing a rumbling growl. He stretched his hand over and stroked him behind the ears.

  “He lives, Manx. He lives. Just keep hanging in there.”

  EPILOGUE

  The Outland. Half a league south of the City of Three, a score of men gathered. They wore chain hauberks with tunics of Royal insignia draped over them. Each had a helmet crested with the markings of a Royal house. All of their faces dripped with sweat, aside from one.

  “This will never happen again,” Melegal said, adjusting the chain hood of his hauberk. The sunlit chain mail felt like a hot iron on his arm. “Only fools wear this metal garb.”

  Venir chuckled. Filling his suit with ample brawn, he was a colossal figure. In his grip, he gently swung Brool from side to side.

  “It was your plan, was it not?” Venir said.

  “It was to some degree, armor not included. I think we could have gotten by with the tunics.” He peered off the overlook, the same as the others. On the ground below, he could make out the man-made mine called the Depot. It was a massive hole with a large mouth. He shifted in his coat of armor. It felt like it weighed more than him. “Stupid idea.”

  “I like it,” Zurth said. The rogue henchman smiled as he put on his helmet. “Armor makes me feel invincible.”

  “If being slow makes you invincible, then I’ve been living my life all wrong,” Melegal said with a frown. He inspected the rest of the ranks. On one side were Venir, Slom, and a handful of rogues. On the other were Zurth, Brak, the mintaurs, and a few more rogues. Brak wore his own armor with a Royal tunic stretched over it. He had a helmet the size of a bucket squeezed onto his head, too. “But slow works for some.”

  “It seems everything is in place,” Fogle said, sliding in behind them. The mage wore his green robes and had his spellbook tucked under his arm. His eyes were distant. Melegal caught Venir glaring at him. “No Royal squadrons are near. The caravan trail is barren. I’ve noted thirty-five underlings in the depot. Considerable numbers.”

  “They won’t be expecting an attack,” Venir said. He held his helmet under his arm. “We could wait until night, and I could handle this alone.”

  Melegal watched Fogle’s ebony hawk circle in the sky.

  “Can he really see through that thing’s eyes?” Zurth asked, peering upward.

  Melegal shrugged. He’d learned that magi could do plenty of things he never suspected before. In this case, he was glad it favored them for a change.

  “Any like you in their midst?” Melegal said.

  “No,” Fogle said. “Just a well-armed force. Laborers and fighters. Formidable as any. I’m not so sure these rogues can handle the underlings.”

  “We can handle them,” Slom said. “It’s them who should be wary of us. I’ve gutted my share of the glitter eyes.” He spat. “I’ll gut even more today.”

  The Depot was well fortified. Underling sentries were spread out along the rim. A pair guarded a steep and narrow ramp that led down into the center. There were also cranes and pulleys that hoisted goods in and out of the hole. There were catwalks, scaffolding, and other barriers. Getting into the Depot was one thing, but getting out was going to be another matter.

  “Remember, men,” Venir said, “on my command, ride in, take a head, and ride out. Mount up.”

  In a minute, everyone was geared up and in a saddle. The score of men, led by Venir, headed toward the Depot. Two carts filled with barrels and crates were between them. Melegal’s stomach was queasy. Fighting with a group of men wasn’t his thing. But it was his plan.

  Not the best plan, but a plan nonetheless.

  Initially, Melegal had hoped to find a way to collapse the tunnel, but that wasn’t possible, so he had opted for another plan.

  Fogle rode alongside him. “I like your plan. It’s sound, if well executed.”

  “I think it’s time you faded back,” Melegal said. “There is little you can do at this point. Maybe you can cast a spell that will dig us nice graves.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Fogle said, drifting back behind the ranks.

  I bet I could have been a good mage. Better than that egghead, anyway.

  Melegal rode up alongside Venir. “Don’t put that helmet on and get yourself all lathered up. We want to leave some survivors.”

  Venir stretched his axe toward him and said, “Maybe you should take this, then.”

  Melegal snorted and led his horse away, saying, “Just don’t get carried away.”

  “That’s not my way.”

  ***

  Melegal shook. His heart pounded in his chest as they approached. He was too far out of his element. He was doing things he’d never considered doing before. And for what. Profit? Vengeance?

  What am I doing? And why did they even listen?

  It was a simple plan. Hit. Run. Turn the Royals and underlings against each other. Build mistrust. Breed confusion. That was what Royals did. He’d lived it for years. Now it was time to use their own tactics against them. Create a spark that would force the Royals to fight against the underlings. But would they do enough damage to make it work?

  I doubt it, but doing something is better than doing nothing.

  A streak of black caught his eye, diving and disappearing into the tunnel. It was Fogle’s familiar, Inky.

  Slat. He’ll probably find out there’s a hundred more in there.

  ***

  Fogle watched on horseback. He could see Venir in the lead, approaching the ramp guarded by the underlings. He could also see something else. He’d sent Inky into the depot tunnel. It was twenty feet high, and Inky flew in thirty feet deep and squirmed up into the support beam rafters. There were underlings. Another score or two. Maybe more further back. They stirred. His blood stirred.

  I thought so.

  He rubbed his spellbook. He’d kept his thoughts to himself, prepared a spell, and now the time had come to cut it loose. The underlings closed in on Venir and the others. The conversation, however it went, wasn’t going well. Venir’s axe came up and ripped down.

  Forgive me, Inky.

  He closed his eyes and spoke a powerful incantation.

  ***

  It was a short conversation.

  “See those carts back there?” Venir said to the underling. “They are here to pick up your dead.”

  The underling chittered something to the other, and the other spoke in Common.

  “What do you mean, Human?”

  “The dead,” Venir said. “Pick. Up. Your. Dead.”

  “What dead?” The first underling screeched and went for his sword. The other whistled an alarm.

  Brool flashed up and Brool flashed down.

  KABOOOOOOOOOOM!

  The ground shook. Large chunks of rock, dirt, and debris erupted from the Depot.

  “Have at them, rogues!” Venir roared. He sank Brool into the second underling’s neck. “That’s two for me!”

  ***

  The ground above the tunnel of the Depot had sunk twenty feet into the earth. Melegal pulled off his coif and tossed it to the ground. The Depot was a dust- and dirt-covered hole now. The scaffolding and catwalks had been shattered. Underlings were buried in a pile of limbs, entrails, and other carnage. Whatever had shaken the ground was a power he’d never experienced before.


  Venir and Brak and the others had made quick work of the underlings and chased away a handful of survivors.

  Perfect.

  Fogle approached from the hillside with a look of satisfaction on his face.

  “Did your bird do that?”

  “Indeed.”

  “That’s quite a bird.”

  “Indeed.”

  “It would have been nice to have a heads-up about it.”

  “But that would have ruined the surprise.”

  Armor coated in dark blood, Venir approached with a scowl on his face.

  “I don’t think he’s going to like what you did.”

  “Why?”

  “’Cause I’ve never seen anyone kill more underlings than him before,” Melegal said.

  BOOK 4: LETHAL LIAISONS

  CHAPTER 1

  Metal.

  Slice!

  Bone.

  Slice!

  Death.

  Slice!

  Three underlings lay in pools of blood, dying at Venir’s feet. Blood dripped from Venir’s axe, Brool. The mystic axe seemed to hum with new life, glinting in the moonlight. He stepped on the corpses and waded back into the darkness of the City of Three’s network of buildings.

  Nothing like a nighttime stroll.

  Venir’s big frame half-filled the next alley he ventured in. The walls were sheer on either side. The tiny stone window shutters were closed. The City of Three was in chaos. It was just what Venir wanted. A war had finally begun between the men of the races and the underlings. Now, it wasn’t just Venir and his comrades fighting, but a small part of the city also battled the fiends.

  Helm throbbed.

  Eh? Venir slowed his pace. The hairs on his neck rose.

  Toowah! Toowah! Toowah!